Contemplating
by mamika
Summary: A little fic where John is thinking about things and life. it was meant to be about John and violin but for some reason John just wanted to pour out his thoughts. and this is the result. my first Sherlock fic so... slight johnlock. now featuring second part from sherlock's point of view.
1. Contemplating John

This is my 50th fic. and I haven't really written anything in months. and this is my first Sherlock fic. It's probably not that good and it's not what anyone wanted me to write but... I wrote it. I am rather glad I managed to write it even though at one point I nearly quit and erased the whole thing. I don't know if that point is visible but I think the fic changed direction a bit at that point.

anyways. I never thought about writing Sherlock fic. but apparently I did that anyways. I am happy that number 50 was something really special.

* * *

John had been reading a book in his armchair for a while now. When he had come home from work Sherlock had been playing his violin by the window.  
Enjoying the downtime he had picked up his long-deserted book and started reading. But occasionally he would stop before turning a page and just stare at the playing Sherlock for a moment. In his childhood he had often wanted to play something, mostly guitar or drums, but had never really get around to do it. He couldn't ask his parents to buy him something so expensive so it had always remained as a distant wish. So he watched Sherlock played and wondered what it would be like to learn to play violin. He knew it was way harder that guitar. And more posh too. Not many commoners played it and very few played just for their own pleasure. At least not that he knew.  
Not as well for sure. He observed the ease what with Sherlock played, gazing out of the window and seeming nearly oblivious to the complicated movements his hands were making. Like they wouldn't be anything harder that typing.

He frowned. Sherlock typed with alarming speed too. Maybe he had just unnaturally agile fingers.

He shook his head and turned a page. It was time wasted to think about it. He himself would probably play anything. He was too stiff for that, with his gunshot wound. Repetitive motions would not do it good. He shifted his eyes onto the new page and dived into the story.

It took him a while to notice that the flat was quiet. Slightly alarmed he lifted his gaze to Sherlock but careful not to move his head. In case it was just Sherlock again tasting him for one experiment or another he didn't want the detective to know where his focus was. But Sherlock was still standing in the window and looking out. The violin was still resting on his shoulder but the bow hand was hanging on his side.

He risked lifting his head up a bit to get a better look. He wished he could see Sherlock's face but from his chair it was impossible. He frowned. Sherlock was just standing there, motionless. That was not something he was used to seeing. The only spot Sherlock would be still was on his back on the sofa.

After a few long silent moments he cleared his throat

"You want some tea?" he asked as normally as he could while focusing on getting every reaction from Sherlock. As always the detective was able to control most of his reaction. If he didn't have such fluffy curls he wouldn't have noticed the little jerk his head had when his words startled him. He could kind of understand Sherlock though. It was not like he was the most open person in the world, ask his therapist, even though he could make others believe he was open and honest person.

"Yes please" Sherlock finally answered, never moving from the window.  
He sighed and got up from the chair before dropping his book on it.

He walked in the kitchen and put the kettle on. Taking two cups out he tossed teabags in them and then he just waited. He noticed he had been staring out of the kitchen window when the kettle clicked off and dragged him back to present.  
Pouring the boiling water into the cups he thought how similar he and Sherlock really were. They were both hiding things, even from each others. It wasn't that they were bad things, at least with him it wasn't. He just didn't feel comfortable telling his personal things to others. He didn't want anyone knowing what was going on in his head.  
He snorted. Of course Sherlock probably knew. But just like Sherlock didn't want him to dig out his personal things Sherlock left his personal things alone too. He appreciated it. For some reason he was fine with just guessing that Sherlock knew everything about him as long as it was not confirmed.

So they lived happily together, he thought while tossing the teabags away. He occasionally had a shot with women but every time the relationship was about to turn more serious and he was expected to tell how he felt about things, what he thought about things he backed out. And Sherlock helped him with that. He didn't know if Sherlock was worried of him leaving or if he just happened to occasionally be more demanding, needing more help with getting a pen or sending a text.

And he never asked. That was part of the unspoken deal. He didn't ask why Sherlock did it and in return Sherlock never asked why he wasn't properly angry at him for loosing his girlfriends. Not that he had any right to be, it was his decision to put Sherlock first. Always his decision and one that he was not about to chance.

Because they worked. They were comfortable together. He felt safe and relaxed with Sherlock. Not something he had felt much after coming back from 'Ganistan. He didn't have to hide himself, act like he was just like everyone else. That he was okay with killing people as long as they were bad ones. That he didn't mind breaking rules and laws as long as it was for a good reason. And as long as they didn't get caught.

He had changed in the war. He knew what it meant that ending justified the means. And he was okay with that. But he also knew that not everyone would be okay with it, so he did his best to act like he hadn't changed and that he was still good average citizen.

Granted that people did wonder why he was living willingly with Sherlock but it had eventually been shrugged off with him needing the thrill and danger. It wasn't the whole truth but part of it. He needed the excitement too. And Sherlock had helped imprint that into people's minds. Had helped him blend in and be accepted with a slight white lie.

He brought the cups to the living room where Sherlock apparently hadn't moved at all. He walked up to the window and held out the mug.

"Here" he said and smiled. Sherlock tilts his head to face him. Then balanced the violin against his cheek and shoulder and takes the bow into the same hand as the violin neck and freed a hand for the cup.

"Thanks" Sherlock said nonchalantly and takes the cup before looking out of the window. He shook his head.

"That won't work. Give me the violin before you drop it and I'll put it on your chair"

Without a word Sherlock lifted his head and moved the violin a bit over his shoulder. He took the instrument and brings it to the chair before sitting back down on his chair. The book digs into his thigh and with some struggle he pulled the offending item away and places it on the floor.

Then he leaned back and stared at the man staring out of the window.

He couldn't deny that Sherlock was the most important person to him. That Sherlock had saved his life when they had met, when they had moved in together. Sherlock had showed him, was showing him all the time that it wasn't wrong to be different. It wasn't wrong to keep some distance to others and live the way you wanted .  
And in return he tried to protect Sherlock. He tried to make the man a bit less offending. Because being different and distant was one thing, being hated was other. And he needed to get Sherlock to see the difference before something went terribly wrong. The man was brilliant, he didn't want anything to soil that. And he was sure that both Donovan and Anderson were just waiting for Sherlock to slip over the line.

He set his jaw. He would not let that happen. He would save Sherlock from prosecution, from being turned into a freak. Partly because Sherlock had done that to him and he wanted to pay it back, mostly because he just liked Sherlock. His strength, his intelligence, his personality.

He accidentally snorted out loud when he thought how far the sociopath mark was from truth. It only took a good look into Sherlock's eyes to know it wasn't true but a handy armor.

"What is funny?" Sherlock asked, finally turning away from the window. He smiled genuinely

"You" This time Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Not many would agree with that" Sherlock remarked and took a sip of his tea. He shrugged

"Not many know you"

Sherlock didn't answer but walked to his chair putting the bow onto the box and moving the violin into it too. Then Sherlock sat down opposite to him. They looked into each others eyes and then Sherlock leaned back.

"So. You are contemplating life again" It wasn't a question. So he didn't answer.

"What were you thinking?" he asked instead. Sherlock huffed

"How boring this day is"

he giggled at that.

"You seemed pretty occupied to me" he said. Sherlock lifted an eyebrow.

"And I thought you were reading a book"

He shrugged.

"I was."

after some more staring Sherlock's lips turned into a smirk. Then he changed topic

"So what conclusion did you reach?"

he drank his tea and rested his head against the chair. What did he think about life nowadays. What did he think about sharing his life with Sherlock. He grinned

"That it's not bad at all"

This time Sherlock smiled contently

"No" he drawled out "No it isn't"

"Telly?" he suggested after a while. Sherlock's phone beeped before the man could answer. Digging the phone out of his pocket Sherlock glanced at it and a slow predatory smile spread over the previous one

"Murder" he said with his deep excited voice. He was up his chair in a blink of an eye but instead of storming off he stepped closer to his chair and held out a hand. He blinked in surprised but reflectively grabbed it anyway. Sherlock pulled him up to his feet and they were standing only few inches apart.

There was no need for words. Because even though neither of them asked, both of them knew it. They didn't need to share their deepest thoughts and darkest moments. They understood each other, they knew each others as well as they knew themselves.  
It was them against the world and neither was going to back down.

Sherlock was his sanctuary, his sanity. He was Sherlock's support, his heart.  
Stepping together they rushed to the door, grabbed their jackets and run to the street. The game was on.

* * *

I don't know. so I ask you. how was it? please don't be too mean. I know there is some grammar problems, probably OC problems and all other stuff. so at the very least, don't be too harsh. but I would like to hear your opinions.  
thank you for reading, to those who had the time and effort to read all the way through. I thank you.


	2. Contemplating Sherlock

so. twice in a blue moon did happen. thank you for your wonderful reviews :D  
Josette, if not your encouragement, I would not have tried to write this part, even though I thought about whilst writing John. if not for you, I would not have let the idea form into a story. you gave me an idea and a reason to do this. so thank you for that.  
discountdiamond, if not for your kind words, I wouldn't have dared to post this. you gave me faith and courage. thank you for that.

for everyone else, I tried my best. naturally, Sherlock is a bit quicker on things than John. and he thinks a lot more.

I hope they are not too OOC. because I really like them the way they are. writing was fun. I miss it.

without more wasted time, here it is, hope you have good times whilst reading.

* * *

Sherlock had been playing the violin and staring out of the window into the street below. So he saw John coming home.

He listened the front door click open and then shut again. When John walked up the steps he was frowning to himself and refused to turn around and greet him.  
Absentmindedly he listened John puzzing around before settling in his chair. Without a moment's pause he kept playing. It didn't matter that he had chanced the song as soon as John had stepped into the building, it had not make him loose a tune. But it was a bit annoying. Just because John had once mentioned liking Bach didn't mean he had to always play it when John was around.

Still looking out he slowly ceased playing and lowered the hand with the bow. He was grateful of John, of his impact in his life. It really wasn't that big deal that he would play something for John when the doctor so willingly always strutted with him around London.

And he wasn't exactly bothered by this act of kindness that he was displaying. And that was what made him frown.

He had chanced. Somehow John had replaced drugs in his life. Nowadays the craving that had once made him do his best to loose Mycroft's spies on his tail was a distant throb. Like a mosquito bite. It would occasionally itch if he thought about it but generally it didn't affect him at all.  
And John was a bridge between him and other people. It was clear that he was more welcomed to the Yard than he had been without John. What he couldn't deduce was the reason. Was it because Lestrade had noticed that the risk of him showing up high was gone or because John had made people see him as something more than just a freak and a brain with legs.  
Because John had unmistakably done that. John thought he was oblivious to the efforts the doctor had, always trying to show people the good sides of him, calling him brilliant and extraordinary. He had gained more respect with John at his heel and less awed fear.

He waved the bow a bit in the air. It wasn't so much that he had chanced after John, it was more about people seeing him differently.  
He smirked a bit. No, he didn't mind it. People were less alert now when he was around and that made it so much easier to deduce all useful stuff.

So. Yes, playing something for John wasn't that big sacrifice at all. Especially since it was thanks to John that he didn't need to bother to take more boring cases just so he could afford the rent. And John had also brought a gun with him, allowing him to relieve tension and boredom by shooting the walls.

Of course he was yelled at it, as well as nagged at leaving body parts all over the kitchen but he didn't mind some nagging. Honestly he enjoyed a bit of bickering with John. Why else would he read the doctor's hideous blog unless it was to get him react.  
Because John wasn't stupid. He wasn't good at deductions but otherwise he was good. There was certain unique aspect with John, one that would occasionally surprise him and one that he didn't care to pick apart and study. Since it didn't take a mind like his to realize that to probe it would most likely end up with John leaving. And that was the last thing he wanted.

Suddenly John cleared his throat and asked

"You want some tea?"  
Having been deep in thought he couldn't quite stop the startled jump at the sudden noise. He had to swallow hard and blink to come to the present moment.

"Yes please" he finally drawled out. He heard John sigh and move onto the kitchen. He didn't turn around.  
He liked John's company. He wasn't like the others, trying to change him and make him act more "normal", like it would be a good thing. He liked John. He was someone who gave him a heads up when he was too lost in his head to notice what was going on. As in crime scenes when John told him not to smile so widely. Or at all.

But he was not going to tell John that. There was no need to say it out loud. Just like he didn't need John to tell how much more relax the doctor was when they were alone. It was clear, there was no need to say it.

There were many things that he didn't need to say aloud. He didn't need to apologize to John for always pulling him out of dates or needing him for something trivial like fetching a pen. Since he wasn't really dependent on John help, he had managed just fine alone so far. But he could see when John was getting uncomfortable and when John would welcome an intervention. Besides, fetching a pen was dull.

"Here" John said and held out a steaming mug for him. He balanced the violin on his shoulder and switched the bow onto another hand and took the mug with thanks. But John huffed exasperatedly and told him to give him the violin. He obliged because it did make enjoying the tea a much more easier. And why would he not let John indulge in doing things for him. There was no harm in it.

When John snorted he turned away from the window and set his eyes on the doctor

"What is funny?" he asked. John smiled happily

"You"

Now he snorted and rolled his eyes. There were moments when John was making no sense

"Not many would agree with that" he commented and tasted his tea. There was a hint of honey in it, just the way he liked it. John just smiled smugly back

"Not many people know you"

he didn't bother to redeem that with an answer so he just ignored it, and went to put the bow away after loosening it. Then he moved the violin into it's case before managing to sit down onto his chair and take a good look at the doctor. That trustworthy figure. He knew from experience that he could trust John with his life. Not something he usually did. But he also knew that it went both ways. Whatever he would need to do, he would do it to keep John alive. Not safe, because that would not be satisfactory to neither of them. But alive.  
Because John protected him. Not just against criminals who threatened to shoot him. But against the ordinary people. Against loathing and prosecution.

Because John was his shelter, and John was also his heart, because it was only John that let him think it was okay for him to feel something, and that he could feel something. John had never doubted his ability to feel. So for John, he did feel. He could crack up his armor a bit and not be on guard all the time. Much like John was with him.

Because he was John's sanctuary. And he was also John's sanity, because if the soldier would loose the thrill and the danger, being left alone among the more ordinary people he knew John would not survive it for long. He could see it when John let down his guard and relaxed when it was just the two of them.

He looked into the blue eyes of his roommate, seeing in his stance and expression a shadow of what he himself was thinking.

"So. You are contemplating life again" he said and leaned back in his chair. It was usual for John to recall his past and compare it to the present. And be delighted at the way things had turned out. And seeing it always made himself feel a bit better. John was someone who told him he was amazing when others cursed him, and John was the one whose mood changed his mood.

Apart from Mycroft. If his brother was annoyed he himself felt greatly satisfied.

John didn't reply to his comment but asked

"What were you thinking?" the doctor asked curiously, tilting his head a side a bit. He huffed. He had had so much time to think secondary matters that there was only one answer to that question

"How boring this day is"

John giggled at that and he hid his answering smirk with a sip of tea. John shook his head in amusement

"You seemed pretty occupied to me"

he lifted an eyebrow at that. It was surprise that he had not noticed being watched. And equally surprising that John tried to read him. And succeeding at some level. He was clearly rubbing off on the doctor. Maybe he would learn to deduce with time. He grinned inwardly at the prospect. Life wasn't nearly as boring as it used to be. Now he had John to experiment all kind of things.

"I thought you were reading a book" he commented nonchalantly. John shrugged, not looking at him

"I was"

He kept staring at John who was stubbornly not looking at him. A smirk started tugging at his lips and he let it. Then he decided to have mercy on John for now and asked

"So what conclusion did you reach?"

John looked at him blinking confused a moment before understanding what he was referring to. Then John took his time thinking about the answer, finishing of his tea leisurely. There was clearly some thinking going on but he decided to let John tell him what it was instead of sprouting out his deductions.

John grinned widely at him

"That it's not bad at all"

He smiled back. They had reached the same conclusion. He was glad that John was John, because it allowed him to be okay with thinking along the same lines.

"No" he drawled out "No it isn't"

It was they against the rest. The normal, ordinary, boring people. And the crazy, homicidal, intriguing individuals. Wherever he would go he could trust John to have his back. And wherever he would go he would make sure John could get out.

Eyes sparkling John suggested

"Telly" after gazing each others for a long time. Enough long that he could read the trust, faith and fondness from John's face. So open when he let it be.

His phone beeped at the same time and he fished it out of his pocket to see. The blood started immediately bumping faster through his face, preparing him for the brainwork, the legwork and the case. He knew his expression was predatory

"Murder" he answered and dashed up from his chair. He stepped to John's chair and held out a hand. He enjoyed the shocked surprise in John and warm at the hand that automatically grasped his. With a tug he pulled John up and they stood with only inches apart. He could smell the doctor, see even the smallest lines on his face, analyze all there was to see. If he wanted to look that hard. But some things he allowed the good doctor to keep to himself whenever he could stop himself from seeing it all.

Because just as much as John needed him, he needed John. Both when he was bored out of his mind and needed a distraction and when there was so much to take in that he was loosing ground. John was always there for him.  
And he was not going to let down the only person who had such faith in him.  
The only person he wanted at his side in all situations.

As one man they headed to the door, grabbing their jackets and rushing out.

The game was on.

* * *

I do hope I portrayed Sherlock adequately. he notices more than John I think. so I think there were more details because of that.

Kudos for reading.

reviews would be much appreciated. they indeed make me, and keep me going.

thank you for your candor. I mean time...


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